Trick, Treat, or Neither
by jesuisl0ser
Summary: AU post-series, slightly Spuffy. Spike's in charge of answering the door on Halloween. Definitely not my favorite fanfic I've written but I decided to write one for today. Happy Halloween, everyone.


**A/N: Not one of my favorite fics, constructive criticism is welcome. Happy Halloween. DISCLAIMER: BtVS belongs to Mutant Enemy.**

* * *

If there was any day of the year Spike detested the most, it was Halloween.

To the average human, All Hallows' Eve was a night in which the creepy crawlies came out to play, and all things of the most horrifying nature made themselves known.

In actuality, it meant quite the opposite, and Spike could certainly attest to that. Every demon and monster and ghostie liked to stay home on this day of days. Why? Because it was the one time the rest of the world_expected_ them to grace their spooky presences. And where was the fun in that?

Even now that Spike was a vampire with a soul, he did miss the thrill of it. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten a scare out of anyone. Was he losing his touch?

From his seat on the couch, Spike glared with cold contempt at the door across the way. Soon, kiddies would come knocking, begging for chocolate-covered treats in their elaborate costumes. And Spike was in no mood for it. He crossed his arms and sniffed.

"Uh-oh. Someone's grouchy," came a voice from behind him.

A small smile crept across Spike's face despite his not-so-cheery disposition. Buffy always seemed to put him in a better mood.

He turned a little to see Buffy walking toward him, and grinned a little wider as she promptly settled herself on his lap. "Hey," she said, "The few hours of 'trick-or-treat'-induced doom come ever closer."

He rolled his eyes, wrapping an arm around her waist out of habit. "Yeah. I ain't thrilled. And it's not like I could even keep myself busy with a patrol or somethin'. Nothin' good ever happens on Halloween."

"Except for that time we turned into our costumes," Buffy mused, "Oh! And the tiny freakish demon guy...and...well, I think _my_ Halloweens have been anything but boring." She shrugged, leaning over to brush her lips against his neck, and he could practically hear her smiling into the light kisses she pressed to his skin.

"Oh, bugger," he muttered, closing his eyes, "You're about to ask me a favor, aren't you?"

Buffy looked up at him, pouting a bit. "What makes you think that?"

"'Cause you're already bribing me with kisses, Slayer. I know you too well," he replied shortly. And it was no word of a lie. Having been engaged in a serious relationship with her for almost a year, and having known her much longer than that, Spike liked to think he was an expert in all things Buffy Summers the Vampire Slayer.

Sure enough, Buffy grinned sheepishly and nuzzled his neck a little. "So, theoretically, if I were to ask you a favor right now, would you do it?" she pressed on, her voice slightly muffled.

Spike let out an elongated sigh (despite his lack of a need to breathe in the first place), and retorted flatly with, "Depends on the favor."

"Well . . . " She looked up at him again, and Spike met her hazel-colored gaze. "You're the one who said it. Nothing ever happens on Halloween. And I _really_ need to call Giles to catch up, y'know, official Slayer business, and...get some work done while I have the time. I mean, the bad guys get the day off, and therefore, so do the Slayers who fight them." She spoke hesitantly, and Spike raised an eyebrow, signaling her to continue.

In one short breath, she finished, "I-kinda-sorta-need-you-to-be-on-door-duty."

Horrified, Spike gaped at her. "You've got to be bloody kiddin' me. You want me to hand out candy?"

She shrugged, her face hopeful. "...Yes?"

"Oh, no you don't, Buffy. I _refuse_ to participate in this soddin' travesty of a holiday while you confer with Mr. Tweeds-a-Lot. My plan was to sit and watch telly." Spike nodded firmly, crossing his arms once again, glaring at her.

And then, Buffy Summers used her all-powerful weapon against Spike-one more powerful than any stake could ever be: her pout.

Her lower lip quivered slightly as she peered up at him with sad eyes. "Please, baby? Just this once. The one night I'm not out on recon or training Slayers or kicking some serious ass, I wanna have a 'me' night."

"I hate kids."

"You didn't hate Dawn when she was younger."

"She was different."

"Not really."

"There was one of Dawn. There'll be hundreds of 'em at the door beggin' for candy. Hoards of 'em. Stampedes."

"Spike, you are so dramatic!"

"In their bleedin' ridiculous costumes . . . half o' those kids have never even seen a soddin' witch."

"I know. It offends Willow quite a bit-"

"Or a ghost. Or a vampire. They wouldn't know what hit 'em if they saw one."

"Just this once, Spike?"

"No."

"Kids aren't so bad. They have their share of adorable. And they're really insightful!"

"No."

"I'll reward you later."

"..."

"Aforementioned reward is clothing-optional."

"...Fine."

"Yes!"

And so it was. Buffy had managed to weasel her way into making a deal with him, and now, Spike found himself sitting on the couch alone as Buffy sauntered off, cell phone in hand, already phoning Giles about some issue or another.

Just then, the doorbell rang.

_Stake me_, Spike thought, stalking over to the door, _Bloody stake me now_.

He grabbed a fistful of candy from a bowl Buffy had set out, and opened the door.

A young girl dressed as a princess held out her pumpkin-shaped container. "Trick or treat!" she said demandingly.

Spike sighed and dropped the candy into the bag. Princess-girl peered into the plastic pumpkin, then back up at him. "That's not enough."

He blinked at her. "What, now?"

"Not enough candy. The people across the street gave me tons more!" she replied begrudgingly.

Squinting at the girl and trying to contain himself from shouting various profanities, Spike handed her some more candy. "Right. There. You can go now, yeah?"

She looked up at him, sticking out her tongue, before skipping away.

_Of all the sodding nerve_... Spike thought, _Buffy owes me a damn good reward_...

And for a couple of hours, this was the pattern. Kids would show up, demanding M&Ms and Kit Kat bars, and Spike would deliver. _William the Bloody. Handing out candy. This is buggerin' sad._

Finally, the amount of sugar-high children at the door began to decrease. Until one final doorbell ring proved to be quite interesting to Spike, indeed.

He sat catching a late rerun of _Passions_ on the soap network when he heard the doorbell. Groaning, Spike made his usual shuffle to the candy dish, opening the door as he did so.

A blonde boy of around thirteen years old peered up at him, holding out a plastic bag.

Spike raised his eyebrows, finding himself staring down at what seemed to be a miniature (and very stereotypical) version of himself. The blonde boy donned a long black cape, pale face make-up, and plastic fangs from which "blood" dripped to the edges of his mouth.

"Oh, bugger all," was all Spike had to say.

The boy stared at him quizzically, looking a bit peeved. "Um. What?"

And finally, Spike couldn't hold back any longer. All night he'd been stuck in a never-ending loop of handing out treats to hyper little children, and he'd just about had it:

"First of all, lose the soddin' cape. Vamps don't wear those unless they're great big poofs. Second, are you tryin' to draw attention to the fact that you're about to bite into someone's juicy neck? Big mistake lettin' the fangs show, there. Lose 'em. And third...the long nails? Really, kid?" He held up his hands. "Hygiene isn't a concept _entirely_ ignored by the undead. You got it?"

All the boy did was look up at him, wide-eyed. Finally, he spoke: "How do _you_ know what vampires are supposed to look like?"

Spike gave him a significant look, and suddenly, an expression of understanding flashed across the boy's face. "Y...you're...?"

Spike remembered briefly what Buffy had said about children being perceptive. He hadn't thought much of it until now. Maybe this kid was picking up on more than Spike had given him credit for.

And maybe now was the perfect time to get a bit of revenge for the torture Halloween had caused him.

He gave the boy a slow affirmative nod, putting on his best scare-their-pants-off face without the use of fangs.

The boy gaped at Spike, surveying his dark clothes in contrast with his extremely pale skin. Hmm. Perceptive. I'll give him that. "That's...makeup, right? On your face. And hands."

Spike shook his head.

"Well," the boy said defiantly, "P-prove it."

Spike grinned, towering over the boy. "I'm not sure you'd like to stick around if I did." He glared at the boy menacingly, clenching his fists, and he knew instantly that the boy understood perfectly.

"O-oh." By his shaky voice, Spike figured he'd done his job. The kid took a couple of steps back, still wide-eyed, before running off, no words of tricking or treating ever uttered from his lips.

Spike grinned. _Well. Look at that. I've still got it.  
_

Shutting the door behind him, he sauntered over to the couch, a bit giddy. Maybe his hatred for Halloween, he realized, was stemmed from the fact that he just didn't feel so scary anymore. Being soulful certainly had its limits. But tonight, he'd had a little harmless fun.

Flopping down onto the cushions and crossing his arms behind his head, he called:

"Oh, Buffy? I'm ready for my treat, now."

Buffy poked her head in from the kitchen, untucking a pen from the crook of her ear and letting out a sigh. "Well, I hope your evening was more fun than mine."

Spike didn't answer; he simply lay on the couch, still a bit on the smug side.

Buffy raised her eyebrows. "Oh, God. Your evening_ was_ more fun than mine." There was a pause as she considered this, and she quickly added, "Spike. What did you do?"

He sat up, looking at her innocently. "Nothin'. Why?"

She looked at him accusingly. "Did you scare any kids?"

He stood up and wandered over to the candy dish, popping a mini Hershey bar into his mouth. So, maybe tonight had been more bearable than he'd thought.

"Nah," Spike said, hiding a smirk, "None at all..."

* * *

A frazzled young Andrew Stephens busted through the front door of his household, greeted with his mother's bewildered expression.

"Home this early, Andy? You look like you've seen a ghost."

The boy shook his head, heading up the stairs to his bedroom in a daze and removing his plastic fangs with a look of dismay.

"No...not exactly." 


End file.
